autumn afternoon, Ale has just woken from his nap, we made the cookies and now we are playing with toy trains.
My little man looks up and notices a picture of myself and Bruno a few years ago, which now rested on a shelf.
"Mom you look great in the picture ... we are you and Dad ... but I'm not there?"
"Love in the picture the father and mother were Upon your married, you were not born yet!"
"After you took the plane and you came in Vietnam?"
"Yes, love, the father and mother came to the House of Children, where did he accompanied his mother's belly because it might become a family and be together forever."
"Mom I was born from your tummy!"
"No, you know, mom has already told you, you were born in the belly of the mother in Vietnam. In my belly can not raise children-the belly of a mother-bua, you were born in the belly of the Mother of Vietnam but also in my heart! "
........... follows a short silence in which I, as a mother anxious, I think Ale is "developing" what we just said ......
"Mom you take the cream rose in the bag and put it on your belly, so you no longer hurts!"
... pause ... "Thank you love!"
This is our way of telling "our story", in small steps, in a quiet autumn afternoon.
Sometimes when you think about having to inoltare in some kind of explanation you realize that your child, at that moment, that does not make you more interested in his stomach hurt!
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